Wednesday, July 11, 2012

over west

Pete the community responder was first on scene.

He meets us at the doorway.

We follow him upstairs.

‘The daughter Kate was at the hospital sitting with her Dad
who’s in for some kind of cancer op. Mum Emma came home last night to get some
rest before going back around lunchtime, but when she didn’t show and didn’t
answer her phone, Kate asked the neighbour Jean to pop round and see if
everything was all right. Jean’s got a spare key ‘cos she looks after the cat
sometimes. She’s gone back next door if you need to speak to her. She’s pretty
shaken up.’

He pauses outside the bedroom door.

‘So it was Jean found the body,’ he says.

Emma is in bed, lying on her back with her chin up and her eyes
closed. Her left arm is raised above her head, her right hand clutches the quilt
to her chest, whilst her right leg, bent at the knee, hangs out over the edge. Her
face has that cold definition you only see on hyper-real dummies and the
recently dead, but if there were any doubt, the lower aspect of her exposed arm
and leg are bruised with pooling blood.

‘I haven’t touched anything,’ says Pete. ‘Jean says as far
as she knows Emma only took HRT pills and that was it. Went to the gym. Didn’t
drink. Pretty fit and healthy middle-aged woman. I didn’t see any tablets or
anything that might explain it. Terrible, really.’

After I report the death on the police purple line – a
cheerfully administrative voice the other end: Hello ambulance! What have you got for us today? – I help Rae look
for essential information, date of birth, GP surgery, any scripts or letters that
might throw some light. Rae finds a plastic presentation folder of old school
reports going back to the sixties. Emma’s date of birth is written in faded
biro on one from her infants school. The house is perfectly tidy, with bright
screen prints of flowers on the walls, a busy family calendar covered with
writing, letters and invitations clipped to the side. A pottery rooster crows
on the windowsill. Three ceramic pots by the kettle.

There is a knock on the door; the police have arrived. The
same sergeant I met at the last unexpected death at home smiles when he
recognises me.

‘Anything suspicious this
time?’ he says, and laughs. A huge but diffident officer follows him over
the threshold, immediately blocking out all the light from outside despite ducking
his shoulders to make himself inconspicuous. The sergeant listens to my
handover, then follows us back up the stairs, chatting evenly to the other
officer about the things he should bear in mind in these situations, what he
should be looking for, what he should be thinking about.

‘The daughter Kate is with the father over at the hospital
at the moment,’ I tell him whilst they roll the body to check underneath. ‘Here’s her number and the rest of the paperwork. Is there
anything else?’

‘No. That’s great. Thanks guys. You can stand-down, if you
like.’

We’re half-way down the stairs when there’s a timid rap on
the glass of the front door. When I open it, there’s a twenty-something-year-old
woman standing on the porch, one hand to her mouth. Her partner stands beside
her, looking at me, turning to look again at the police car and ambulance
dominating the road, back at me.

‘What’s happened?’ she whispers. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Are you Kate?’

She nods.

‘Kate – you have to prepare yourself for some really bad
news. I’m so sorry but your mother has died.’

She grunts, folding her arms over her stomach and doubling
over as if I’ve punched her there. Her partner comes to put his arm round her
shoulder, holding her up as a terrible, animalistic scream rises out of her.
The man frowns at me, shaking his head from side to side.

‘What do you mean, died?’ he says. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Died?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Kate breaks away from him, staggers over to a flower bed and
vomits.

‘Is there nothing
you can do?’ he says.

‘No. I’m afraid she’s been dead for some time.’

‘What – Emma?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long?’

‘It’s hard to say. Probably sometime last night.’

‘But … died?’

I nod.

‘Do you want to come inside and sit down? Can I get you
anything?’

‘She can’t have died. Alan’s having his op today. This’ll
finish him off. Died? No way.’

‘I’m so sorry. Was she complaining of feeling unwell
yesterday?’

‘No. Not really. I mean she’s been pretty stressed lately,
what with the cancer and this and that. But … died?’

Rae hands Kate some kitchen towel, puts a hand on her
shoulder and talks to her in a quiet voice. Kate straightens up and pulls out a
mobile phone.

‘How am I going to tell Steph?’ she says, holding it out to
me like I might know. ‘Her baby’s due any day. And the girls? What can I say to
them? This can’t be happening. This can’t be. Not now. I can’t bear it. I can’t
bear it.’

‘I’d maybe leave phoning anyone just yet,’ I say. ‘Give
yourself five minutes just to let the news settle and think what to do.’

‘No,’ she says. ‘They’ve got to be told right now.’

She tries to work the phone, but drops it because her hands
are shaking so much.

The two police officers are standing in the doorway. I catch the sergeant’s eye and he nods
discretely.

‘Come on,’ I say to Kate’s partner. ‘Let’s go inside and we’ll
make you something to drink. What can I get you?’

‘I’ll have a tea – as it comes. Kate’ll have a coffee, white
with two. Jesus Christ! Dead?’

I go into the house and the new police officer follows me
into the kitchen.

‘I’ll help you,’ he says.

He puts the kettle on and I find some cups.

‘What do they want?’ he says.

‘Tea as it comes, coffee white with two.’

He clatters around finding stuff.

‘Tea with two, was it? Coffee and what?’

‘The guy’s having tea, just as it comes. She’s having
coffee, white with two sugars.’

‘Coffee and how many?’

‘Two. Two sugars.’

‘Tea and sugar?’

‘No. Just as it comes.’

The house cat is watching us from under the kitchen table. I
kneel down and hold out my hand. It meows a couple of times, then struts over
with its tail up. It sniffs my fingers, then rubs up against me, round and
round.

‘How many sugars?’ says the police officer.

We take the drinks into the living room. Kate is sitting on
the furthest edge of the sofa, jogging her knees up and down, periodically
looking down at her phone. We put the drinks down on the coffee table in front
of them.

‘Is there anything else you want to ask us before we go?’ I
say.

Kate looks up.

‘Thanks for all you’ve done,’ she says. ‘Well – you know.’

I nod.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

We leave.

*

Control send us back to base.

We drive along the top road that runs like the rim of a great,
shallow bowl, halved by the ocean, the town spreading out towards us from the
cut-line. Far off to the west, storm clouds are moving in from the sea,
the rain falling so thick it smudges out every detail like a spillage of ink across
a canvas.

11 comments:

You really relayed the confusion and disbelief of an unexpected death so clearly. It is so difficult to grasp that an intregal person in your life could leave when there is so much left undone...unsaid. From Kate, to her partner, to the new police officer: everything unclear. Your experience shows through in this situation, with your calm clear reponses. And at the end, the storm hitting...very apropos.

Thanks NariTo be honest, I was hoping to get away from the scene before the relatives got there. I know that's probably awful to admit, but it was only recently I had to break bad news and that was traumatic, too. When Kate showed up I just had to go ahead and do it - desperately sad for the family, esp. considering everything else that was going on. Def one of the worst aspects of this job!

Hi InvictusI think what struck me were the domestic details. We've got a calendar exactly like that at home! All those little things made me even more aware of the tragedy - a person dying unexpectedly, right in the middle of everything, the daily business of family life. Absolutely appalling.

Hey TpalsI certainly felt like crying at the time, but for some reason I managed not to. I don't think it would've mattered if I had. It's just the way it went. I was pretty shaken by the whole experience, though. I hope I don't have too many of those to do (despite the fact that I've had a couple in as many weeks...)

Hi JacksStock phrases do help - esp. if they're sincerely meant. I'd have done anything for her not to have had to come up to that door and be met by me with that news! Dreadful.

The other thing is that you have to give it to them straight, no euphemisms or anything that could be misinterpreted. It's amazing how even using the stark words 'died' and 'dead' still get challenged - but then, it's not so much the word, I suppose, as the enormity of the fact that they're having to face.

Hi MikeYep - could've done with some of that. Mind you, I think gallows humour is one of the most difficult thing to write about. At the time it acts as an important safety valve, something to keep you sane, but written up later it can sound pretty heartless. Anyway, in this case I don't think we said much. We were just too shell-shocked - esp. me!

Hi MDYeah - I think he was pretty shaken up. Prob his first time in a scene like that. I do take some solace from the fact that we're there to help. I mean - someone's got to do it, and it may as well be us! I just hope I can go a bit longer without having to do it again!Cheers for the comment, MD.